


Eagle in the Dove-cote

by Lizardbeth



Category: Coriolanus - Shakespeare
Genre: M/M, Porn Battle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-06
Updated: 2014-02-06
Packaged: 2018-01-11 10:36:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1172040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lizardbeth/pseuds/Lizardbeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tullus Aufidius gets what he wants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eagle in the Dove-cote

**Author's Note:**

> Martius/Marcius - I went with the AO3 spelling.

* * *

 

He comes into Antium like a beggar, _less_ than a beggar, he offers his throat and claims he has nothing, and yet wins everything he wants. He asks for a chance at revenge, and Aufidius accepts, because Caius Martius is many things, but defeated in battle is never, never one of them. With Martius at his side, not across, Rome will fall at last.

But it curls in his chest, this beast of hatred, or perhaps it is pride or lust. Whatever it is, it _wants_. It demands Martius lose something. Aufidius must finally defeat him, if not in battle, another way. He must put his new general on his knees before him and make him surrender.

Aufidius gets Martius on his knees before him, gets Roman lips around Volscian cock, but gods, even here, he wins. Because it is Aufidius who sinks to his heels, knees weak, and it is Aufidius who grips Martius by the back of the neck to kiss him with desperate need, and to lick his own cream off those lips.

It is Aufidius who traces the scars, mapping that strong body with fingertips and mouth, as if he's paid to give pleasure. He wants to see Martius naked and defenseless and begging for release. Aufidius imagines the moment; imagines he won't give that mercy, that he'll tease and torment until Martius is utterly undone.

But it doesn't happen, because Martius never begs. He doesn't have to, because Aufidius gives everything to him. His pride wants to take and to punish, to make Martius submit. But when Aufidius offers the oil, he knows he's the one who wants to yield. He offers himself like he offered the armor and his army, and Aufidius finds himself defeated again when Martius' sword finds its sheath in Aufidius' body.

Every thrust sears him to the bone and boils his blood, and he thinks he can't possibly take any more and then he does, because Martius is the master of this field of battle, as well. Aufidius surrenders to him, surrenders to need of him, and for one glorious moment, he is sure that Mars himself has speared him to the core. When Martius spends with a cry, it is a clarion of his triumph.

Oh, it is sweet to know that he, Aufidius, has brought this hard man to release and quenched the fiery rage that burns so brightly, at least for a moment. Sweeter still to feel sheltered beneath him, lost in a haze of pleasure greater than he's ever felt before.

Yet it is so, so bitter to know that again, Martius is the victor. Aufidius has surrendered everything to him - his battle lost, his resistance ended. He is like the city itself, invaded and looted and brought to terms, by the strength and sword of one man alone.

Which is shameful enough defeat. But far worse, he seethes with the knowledge that he wants Martius to lay him out and conquer him again.


End file.
